


Suited

by ProseApothecary



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a fluffy ending, Drinking, Jealousy, M/M, Not in a kinky way, Richie's in this ergo there's vomiting, in a sad way, recently established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: “There’s a mass grave of red solo cups in the kitchen,” the man says. “You definitely look better than the apartment.”Eddie choke-laughs, flushing pink. He doesn’t think any guys other than Richie have ever flirted with him. And while that might have something to do with his total blindness to sexuality over the last 40 years, he’s also hyperaware that he’s not exactly a Rocky Horror type. Or a Rocky Balboa. Or Rock Hudson.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 128





	Suited

“Do you think I should wear a tie with this?” Richie says, walking into the living room in a Hawaiian shirt and ripped jeans.

Eddie, sitting on the sofa, turns his head with an unimpressed look. “If you’re going to wear clown clothes, at least make sure they’re on properly,” he says, getting up and making his way towards Richie.

Richie feels a little bit of a terror-thrill as Eddie fixes his collar, standing a few inches away.

He tries to remind his brain that they’re actually dating now, and it doesn’t have to do that every time. Sometimes his brain listens. Sometimes it does not.

When he ekes out the courage to look down at Eddie, Eddie is sort of glaring at him. His collar is now fixed, and he checked, in the bathroom, that there was no food in his hair, so it’s a little hard to decipher why.

“Everything ok down there?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, and takes a step backward. “Ok. Look.” He says, putting his palms together in front of him, then stretching them out like he’s making spaghetti.

Eddie beats him to the punch before he can make a pun.

“So, I am trying to give you _space_ , and _autonomy-_ ”

Richie smiles a little. “I don’t recall ever requesting either of those. In fact, I’d prefer to have neither, but continue.”

“But I guess I’m just wondering _why_ you never want me at your celebrity parties? Like, is it me? Do I need to perfect an LA accent? Does it look unprofessional? Do you not want me to see how many Cheez-Its you consume in an evening?”

“Whoa,” Richie says with half a laugh. “You wanna go to my networking parties? I genuinely just assumed that you would hate it. Like, as much as you hate the fact that low-fat yoghurt is all sugar calories.”

Eddie’s expression softens a little. “I’m certain I’ll hate it. But.” He pauses, mouth twisting. “Ugh, you’re gonna be such a dick about this.”

“What?” Richie says, laughing delightedly. “C’mon, now you have to tell me.”

“It’s part of your life.” Eddie says. “And I wanna be part of your life.”

“Eddie!” Richie shrieks, overcompensating for the fact that his heart just leapt about 2 metres. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Yeah, when my foot’s up your ass,” Eddie mutters, clamping a hand over Richie’s mouth as soon as it starts to form the word _kinky_.

Eddie is wearing an honest-to-God suit. Despite the fact that they walk in together, they definitely don’t look like a pairing.

Richie compensates for that by letting everyone who stops by for a second that Eddie is his boyfriend.

Eddie thinks _boyfriend_ is a little young for them, but he thinks that’s why Richie delights in it. He stretches out the syllables like a schoolgirl, almost daring the interlopers to make a comment.

It should annoy Eddie more than it does.

Eventually, someone beats Richie to the punch.

The only other person at this party wearing a suit.

“Nice suit,” the guy says to Eddie, as if he’s a dating sim specifically designed to make a 25 year-old Eddie realise he’s gay.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Eddie says. “How are we the only ones? This apartment is way too nice for the clothes that are in it.”

Richie makes a genuinely hurt sound, which is deeply unfair given that Eddie makes no secret of how virulently offensive his fashion sense is.

“There’s a mass grave of red solo cups in the kitchen,” the man says. “You definitely look better than the apartment.”

Eddie choke-laughs, flushing pink. He doesn’t think any guys other than Richie have _ever_ flirted with him. And while that might have something to do with his total blindness to sexuality over the last 40 years, he’s also hyperaware that he’s not exactly a Rocky Horror type. Or a Rocky Balboa. Or Rock Hudson.

“I’m Damien,” the man says, holding his hand out.

“Eddie.” Richie coughs sharply. “And this is Richie,” Eddie says, taking his hand.

“Oh!” Damien huffs a laugh, extending his hand to Richie next. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you came together.”

“No, I’m a stranger,” Richie says. “I just hover next to people’s conversations until they invite me in.”

There’s a circle of awkward laughter. Eddie elbows Richie in the torso.

“Can I make it up to you both?” Damien asks. “Get you some drinks?”

Richie shakes his head. “I’ll have a vodka cranberry,” Eddie says.

Richie turns to Eddie as soon as Damien leaves. “Eddie,” he says, eyeing him levelly.

“ _What?_ ” Eddie asks, already resenting the _you’re in trouble_ tone. He hasn’t _done_ anything except be polite.

“Am I supposed to be playing the role of the possessive boyfriend here? Because that’s not _me_.”

“No,” Eddie says. “You’re supposed to pretend you can relax for two seconds.”

Richie’s face flattens out. “Then I’m gonna need to be a lot drunker.” And he’s off, heading to the bar.

Eddie’s not going after him. On principle. He doesn’t bend to temper tantrums.

But, as soon as he sees Damien coming back, he ducks away to a crowded corner. He’s not in the mood for small talk anymore.

Watching the mass of drinkers and dancers, it doesn’t take him long to start worrying about Richie.

A 40 year-old man should be able to handle himself at a party.

But Eddie has heard enough stories about his past to have his doubts.

He checks the bedroom first, finding a couple who throw a shoe at him in the process.

No one’s in the bathroom, he can’t see Richie in the crowd, and he’s starting to get a little worried, and a little guilty, in his stupid sweltering suit.

Then he spots the balcony.

Richie sits on the tile, leaning against the railing. He turns his head when Eddie steps out.

Drunk Richie is Honest Richie, so he says, plaintively, “I puked in the pool.”

Eddie looks over the edge, to the pool below. “From _here_?”

Richie groans in a way which Eddie takes to mean yes.

“Impressive,” Eddie says, and Richie looks up at him with a melancholy smile.

“It was mostly gravity.”

Eddie sits next to him, pulling his knees to his chest. He hadn’t actually considered what he was going to say, and he starts framing it in his head.

There’s a moment of silence, then a harsh breath from Richie.

“Eddie,” he says. “I know we never actually talked about-about what this is, and whether it’s exclusive or what but I-I mean for me. It wouldn’t be a dealbreaker, but I really, I want-”

“Richie,” Eddie says gently, taking pity on him. “I don’t want to see other people. Do you?”

“No.” Richie says, on a breath out.

Eddie puts his hands between his knees. “I’m sorry about tonight. But. No guy ever flirted with me before you-”

Richie makes an incredulous noise.

“Ok.” Eddie says. “Well, if they did, I didn’t _realise_. You’re used to this stuff. It’s all new for me.”

“I _get_ that,” Richie says. “But I’m gonna be old to you soon. And the rest of the world is still gonna be new.”

“Richie.” Eddie says seriously. “You could not _pay_ me to get back into the dating scene.”

Richie huffs a laugh.

“And you’re new to me every day. You think I woke up this morning _expecting_ you to puke in a stranger’s pool?”

Richie grins. “I really outdid myself, huh?”

“You could say that.” He nudges his knee against Richie. “You’re it for me. And I’m-I’m gonna find some other outlet for my need for validation, promise.”

“You could just look at my Twitter replies,” says Richie. “All of my fans make it very clear that they would cuckold me in a second.”

“Your fans are terrifying.”

He leans over, running a thumb over Richie’s cheek. When he doesn’t pull back, Eddie kisses him.

Richie blinks at him when he moves back.

“I mentioned that I puked about 10 minutes ago, right?”

“Yes,” Eddie says. “I was making a point, dipshit.”

It takes Richie’s alcohol-soaked brain a few moments to realise what, exactly, that point is.

At which point, he immediately leans in for another kiss. Eddie puts a hand over his mouth. “Don’t push your luck. You taste like anchovies.”

Richie grins at him. Dips his head into the curve between Eddie’s shoulder and neck. Eddie lifts a hand to drift his fingers through Richie’s hair.

“You able to walk to the car?” he asks.

“5 minutes.” Richie’s breath is warm against his neck.

“You’re gonna fall asleep.”

“M’not gonna fall asleep.”

“I’m gonna pinch you if you fall asleep.”

Eddie’s not sure if the drinks needed a moment to kick in, or if Richie’s just a lot tipsier when he’s happy. Either way, when they get up, Eddie has to open the glass door to stop him walking into it.

“Wow. You are _drunk_.”

“And you-” Richie boops his nose, “-are cute. But in the morning I’ll be sober.”

“Winston Churchill is rolling in his grave.”

“Winston Churchill can blow me. Not my president!” he loudly announces to a group of people going past. Some of them whoop.

“See, this is why your stand-up works,” Eddie says. “People read meaning into your gibberish.”

“Babe,” Richie says. “Insult me in the morning. It’s hotter when I understand it.”

“You never understand it.”

“See?” Richie says. “ _Now_ my palms are sweating. My legs are jelly. My heart is all a-flutter.”

“…That’s the alcohol poisoning.”

“If you thought I had alcohol poisoning, there’d be a lot more screeching.”

“That was pre-life insurance Eddie. I’m a new man now. Fuck that liver up.”

“Stop with the dirty talk. We’re in public.” Richie puts a finger to his lips and does an exaggerated shush.

Eddie grabs his hand as he almost trips over a pebble.

He holds it till they get home.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this ages ago and then realised that I needed to post it soon if I wanted to get that "not my president" joke in under the wire. Hopefully it's prophetic.


End file.
